


A Mystery in Boscombe Valley

by lady_slice



Series: Memoirs from a Good Doctor [4]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (Downey films), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Humor, Light Angst, Love, M/M, Victorian Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:27:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24458176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_slice/pseuds/lady_slice
Summary: Adapted alternative take on Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s “The Adventure of the Boscombe Valley Mystery” where after a busy month, Sherlock surprises John with a trip, just the two of them, to a nice quiet cottage he rented. However, their peaceful time together is soon interrupted by a murder involving a father and a son...
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: Memoirs from a Good Doctor [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1640503
Kudos: 20





	A Mystery in Boscombe Valley

_May 20, 1891,_

_This last month had been the hospital’s busiest. While Holmes kept himself busy with his various experiments and cases, I found myself spending more time at the hospital and less time at our home on Baker Street. I could tell that our prolonged absences from each other had been weighing on the both of us, however, I was surprised to find out one weekend that Holmes had gone out of his way to find time for us to reconnect…_

_He had rented a nice little cottage in Boscombe Valley for us that was next to a grouping of farms owned by a wealthy Englishman who had made his money in Australia. Of course, considering mysterious cases seem to follow my companion, our peaceful time together was soon interrupted by a murder involving a father and son. The police believed that the son was the culprit, however Holmes, using his unique instinct, proved otherwise to be the case…_

* * *

“Holmes, this is _unexpectedly_ nice.”

The automobile sputtered to a complete stop next to a quaint cottage. John looked out from the driver side. There was a groundskeeper off in the distance gathering his tools as soon as he spotted their vehicle.

Sherlock huffed before smiling at John. “Your doubt is relentless, dear.” He teased before disembarking.

John laughed quietly as he met Sherlock at the back of their automobile to unload their luggage.

“Considering my luck, I think it’s fair to assume the worst.” John managed to tease back.

Sherlock laughed once more as they were finally met by the groundskeeper. He approached the two men, scratching his forehead underneath his hat, squinting at a piece of paper in his hands.

“O’right, which one of you gentlemen is a ‘Mr. Watson’?”

John scrunched up his face as he stepped forward. “Actually, it’s Dr.—”

“—that’s me.” Sherlock brushed John’s hand away as he approached the groundskeeper to take the key.

John looked quite surprised as Sherlock turned around and winked at him before the groundskeeper handed him the key.

“So, the Misses laid out some fresh towels and linens. Everything else should be in working order, if not, my cottage is not too far o’way from here.”

The groundskeeper dipped his hat toward John and Sherlock before shuffling off. Sherlock looked around before facing John again.

“All right, dear. Shall we?” He motioned with a smile toward their rented cottage.

John grinned as he followed Sherlock. “Mr. Watson? Is this a new disguise of yours?” He asked as he closed the door behind them.

Sherlock looked around the space: they were standing in a small sitting room that was connected to smaller space reserved for cooking and dining. There was a staircase leading upstairs to a bedroom and a small bath.

“No, not a disguise in the slightest bit, dear.” Sherlock answered with a coy expression as he turned around to face John, “but,” he wagged a finger at his companion before walking over to the breakfast table, “don’t think you’re completely off the hook this weekend.”

John rolled his eyes. “As long as we don’t end up solving a salacious murder of some sort,” he walked over to a chair to shed his outer jacket, “I will be absolutely copacetic.”

Sherlock posed thoughtfully. “Yes, but the prospect of murder, especially in a setting such as this, gives one a thrill, wouldn’t you say? Especially if the police missed a covert, yet crucial piece to the puzzle.”

John leered at Sherlock before relaxing his face. “Holmes, _that_ sounds awful. We left Baker Street for tranquility, not an impossible case that only the great Sherlock Holmes can solve. Actually, I think being here isolated will do you some good.” John wagged a finger at Sherlock before settling on a sofa.

“So, what do you have planned for the weekend? I’m sure you’ll have us hustling about, no doubt.”

Sherlock laughed as he stood near the furniture to look downward at John. “Tonight, we retire, but tomorrow breakfast in the village then there’s a line of shops I would like to peruse. Nothing too strenuous, I hope.”

John groaned. “Shopping, of course. As long as I get to sleep in.”

Sherlock chuckled loudly as he ascended the stairs to the bedroom. “Only after we’re done shopping. You can sleep in the next day!” He shouted down below as John begrudgingly took his time following him.

* * *

_Early next morning…_

John’s internal clock woke him up. He shuffled around a bit before realizing that Sherlock was hugged against his body, sleeping soundly. John smiled before kissing the top of Sherlock’s head which prompted the latter to stir somewhat from the movement. John held still before gently pulling his arm free from underneath Sherlock before carefully getting out of the bed.

He yawned before rising, walking over to the nearest window, smiling happily at how nice the morning weather looked. He kept smiling until he noticed a cab parked outside the cottage. He winced as he watched a figure descend the vehicle, and his face contorted into absolute anger as he recognized the figure.

“Lestrade! Bloody hell.” He swore, marching out of the bedroom, down the stairs until he reached the front door before Lestrade could knock.

“No,” John indignantly greeted the Inspector instantly once he swung open the door, “he’s not taking any new cases until we get back to Baker Street. We’re on vacation.”

Lestrade grimaced before moving side to side on his feet. “Dr. Watson, it’s nice to see you as well.”

John huffed as he crossed his arms. “How did you even know that we were here?”

Lestrade wrung his hands together. “Your housekeeper gave me the address.”

John sighed loudly. “Whatever it is, you’re going to have to solve it alone.”

“What’s the matter?” Sherlock had appeared behind John, “oh, Lestrade. Lovely to see your cheery face _so_ bright and early.” He sneered.

Lestrade rolled his eyes. “Mr. Holmes, I’m sorry to interrupt, but there’s a peculiar case—”

John waved his hand around. “Lestrade, I _said_ that Holmes isn’t taking any new cases.” He answered angrily, so much so that it nearly shocked both the Inspector and Sherlock.

Sherlock tugged on John’s arm before addressing Lestrade. “Will you excuse us for a moment, Lestrade?”

Sherlock then closed the door, but only enough so that it was ajar. He walked over to a near window as John stayed near the front door.

“Holmes, you said this was going to be a stress-free weekend.” John let out, already annoyed with whatever his companion was going to say.

Sherlock nodded as he approached John. “I know. I know. I did say that and I’m keeping my word.”

The response appeared to catch John off guard. Sherlock laughed as he finally reached him.

“You’re surprised? I must really do better in the future for you to trust me fully.” He winked at John before opening the door.

“Lestrade, I’m afraid I cannot help you. I do hope you manage fine on your own.” Sherlock said as he slid his hands into his morning jacket.

Lestrade sighed before turning around to head to his cab. “All right, Holmes. But I’ll be in the village if you change your mind.”

John and Sherlock watched Lestrade’s cab drive away before reentering the cottage. Sherlock walked toward the staircase without another word as John lingered near the front door.

“Holmes, did you just turn down a case?” He asked, completely dumbfounded by his companion’s actions.

Sherlock turned to face him. “Really, Watson. You want a quiet weekend, but then you’re shocked when I keep my word. Seems as if we needed this time together.” His tone was little sarcastic, but it seemed to ease John.

“Now, we musn’t waste any more time. The shops will open soon, but we need to eat first. We’ll need the energy.” Sherlock hurried up the stairs as John, yet again, grumbled about shopping all day as he followed his companion to the bedroom.

* * *

_Later that morning…_

Sherlock and John were sitting in a cafe, finishing their breakfast while discussing various items.

“Pardon me, but are you Sherlock Holmes?”

Both John and Sherlock stopped their conversation to look upward at the sound of a youthful voice to see that a young woman had approached their table. She looked quite upset as if she had been crying all night.

Sherlock glanced at John before turning to fully face the woman. “Indeed, I am.”

Although she still looked upset, the woman’s expression showed her relief. “I’m terribly sorry to bother you, sir, but…a friend of mine…he’s in trouble and I don’t know who else to turn to…”

Sherlock looked over at John once more before facing the woman again. “I’m sorry to hear about your friend, however…under any other circumstances I would help, but—”

John interrupted Sherlock by rising from his chair. He found an empty chair next to their table before motioning for the woman to join them.

“He, or we can help you, dear.” John responded, smiling first at the woman before looking at Sherlock who was by now smiling back, revealing that he knew that the sorry state of the young woman had softened John toward him possibly accepting a case while on vacation.

The woman nodded. “There’s an Inspector here from London…the local police called him last night…”

Sherlock slapped the table with delight. “Ah! I see that Lestrade will indeed gain our help after all. Come dear.” He motioned for Watson who stuffed a pastry into his mouth and another into his pocket.

They said goodbye to the young woman after she properly introduced herself before heading to the local police station. There they found Lestrade who was pacing back and forth in a front a cell containing a young man who looked quite solemn.

“Glad to see that you’ve change your mind, Holmes! Yet, the more we search this case, the more it appears that it has been solved.”

Sherlock nodded before looking at the man in the cell. He and John then followed Lestrade to a back room. Lestrade motioned for them to sit at a table.

“Okay, here are the facts. A Mr. Charles McCarthy, a tenant who rented land from a Mr. John Turner, was last seen alive yesterday afternoon. He was seen at a pool in the valley, apparently there to meet someone. Two people who saw McCarthy walking from his house to the pool can attest that they saw him walking alone…”

Sherlock nodded for him to continue.

“…one of the witnesses said that he saw Mr. McCarthy’s son, James, going toward the pool, carrying a gun. Later, a Ms. Patience Moran, the daughter of the estate lodge-keeper, said that she saw both Mr. McCarthy and his son quarreling violently, witnessing James raise his hand as if to strike his father…”

Lestrade folded his hands on top of the table. “…but before seeing the attack, the girl ran away, frightened by the scene. A bit later, James ran to the lodge claiming that he had found his father’s body near the pool, yet his gun was missing, and his right hand and sleeve were stained with fresh blood. Some of the workers followed him back to the pool, finding his father with his head smashed in by repeated blows from a heavy and blunt object, which would appear to match the son’s gun found laying next to the body. James,” Lestrade pointed outside the room to indicate the man sitting in the cell, “was arrested last evening.”

“This looks like a damning case, Holmes.” John said as he shook his head.

Sherlock nodded. “Indeed, however, if you shift your point of view a little you may find that this case points in uncompromising manner to something else entirely different than has been presented before us.”

The conclusion caused Lestrade to huff and shake his head. “Then what do you think, Holmes? Someone dropped out of the sky to kill Mr. McCarthy?” He quipped, mimicking something falling out of the sky much to Sherlock’s annoyance.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “The more featureless and commonplace a crime is, the more difficult is it to bring it home.”

Lestrade rose from the table, motioning for Sherlock and John to follow him to the cell. “Fine. Ask Mr. McCarthy about what happened.”

Sherlock and John followed Lestrade out of the room to the cell. James was still sitting in the cell remaining very quiet. Sherlock approached the cell cautiously.

“Mr. McCarthy, we’re here helping the local police solve your father’s murder. Can you please tell us what happened?”

James looked at Sherlock, before looking away. He sighed before answering. “…I had just come home from Bristol…” he turned to face Sherlock again.

“…our maid had informed me that my father had gone to visit a friend earlier that day…as soon as I heard the wheels of his carriage arrive, I looked out of the nearest window, watching him march away from the house. I then decided to visit the hunting warren on the other side of Boscombe Pool. I ran into the gamekeeper…but I did not know that my father was ahead of me…”

James stopped for a moment to take a breath. “About a hundred yards from the pool, I heard a very distinct ‘Cooee!’ which was a signal my father taught me when I was very young…I think it came from his time in Australia…I ran toward the call, finding him at the pool, but…” James stopped for a moment as his face twisted with confusion, “…he seemed surprise to see me…”

“…he asked me what I was doing which turned into an argument, but before the conversation could take an unfortunate turn, because, you see, my father has—had a violent temper, I left him. I hadn’t walked more than one hundred and fifty yards before I heard an outcry which forced me to run back…there…I found…” James’s voice trembled, “…my father dying on the ground with a terrible head wound. I dropped my gun and held him in my arms before he died. I waited by him until I went to find some help.”

James looked up at Sherlock and John who had both been listening intently. “…I have no idea who did this to him. I know he wasn’t well liked, but I didn’t think anyone would resort to murdering him…”

Sherlock nodded as it became clear that James had concluded. “Did he say anything to you?”

James shook his head as he looked to be thinking deeply. “I think I remember him saying something about a…rat?”

“A rat?” John repeated.

James nodded as Sherlock motioned for Lestrade and John to follow him back to the back room.

“The coroner tried to get out of the son what the argument was about,” Lestrade began as he closed the door, “but he wouldn’t confess. He also said that as soon as he heard his father call, he found a grey-colored coat laying in the grass. Yet, after he turned for help, the coat was gone.”

John shook his head. “I’m afraid that young James sounds delusional. It may be a result of his actions.”

Sherlock shook his head with a quiet laugh. “Yes, the facts appear out of the ordinary and strange, yet I take every word that this young man has uttered as the absolute truth.”

Before Lestrade could counter, there was a knock at the door. He turned, opening it to reveal the young woman who had approached John and Sherlock earlier during breakfast.

“I know James didn’t do it,” her eyes welled up, “We have known each other since we were children, and I know his faults as no one else; but he is too tender-hearted to hurt a fly.”

Sherlock nodded. “I hope that we may clear him, Miss Turner. You may rely upon my doing all that I can.”

Miss Turner beamed. “Why, Mr. Holmes! I have hope!”

Lestrade shrugged with a groan. “Mr. Holmes has a habit of coming up with quick conclusions.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but Miss Turner continued. “I’m sure he’s innocent. The quarrel he had with his father was most certainly about me.”

“In what way?” John asked.

Miss Turner hung her head. “James and I love each other like siblings, but his father wanted us to get married. They fought constantly about it…”

“Was your father in favor of a marriage between you and James?” Sherlock asked.

Miss Turner shook her head. “No, he was against it. Only Mr. McCarthy was in favor.”

Sherlock grinned which caused Miss Turner to blush slightly. “May I talk to your father about this?”

Miss Turner shook her head again. “No, the doctor won’t allow it. My father has been sick for quite some time…his prognosis isn’t good…”

“Is there anything else you can tell us?” John asked.

“Well, my father and Mr. McCarthy knew each other back in Australia…they worked together, I think. But it was strange…my father would never talk freely about his time nor what he and Mr. McCarthy did together…”

Sherlock grinned once more with an air of self-satisfaction. “Thank you. That is very important information.”

“I must go now and tend to my father. Thank you very much for your help, Mr. Holmes.” Miss Turner nodded once more before rushing out of the room.

Lestrade joined John and Sherlock at the table, producing the coroner’s report. “The Coroner said that the, uh, posterior third of the left, the uh,” Lestrade squinted at the report, “…parietal bone and the left half of the…uh…occipital bone had been shattered.”

John grabbed Sherlock’s arm. “That means that the blow could have only happened from behind, yet James must have been facing his father when they argued.”

Lestrade huffed. “But then Mr. McCarthy could have turned his back.”

Sherlock nodded before rising out of his chair. “That may have been the case, however, we shan’t make quick conclusions, right, Lestrade?” He then walked out of the room to James’s cell.

Lestrade rolled his eyes before he and John followed Sherlock who was now talking with James.

“…I’m in love with Alice…” James had started, “…but she doesn’t love me…she went away to boarding school before I could tell her…she had been gone for so long that one night I couldn’t take it…I went to a bar…and met someone…it’s difficult to recall, but after that night we got married…I know, it sounds stupid…”

Sherlock nodded. “We’ve all done things we regret, Mr. McCarthy.”

James nodded back before continuing. “My father didn’t know about the marriage until I saw him last…we began to argue over Alice. He had demanded that I propose to her, but I couldn’t tell him about the sham of a marriage I had found myself in…she was the reason why I was in Bristol…” James sighed, “she had told me she was leaving me for someone else…”

Sherlock nodded once more. “Thank you, Mr. McCarthy. Lestrade, please show us the scene.”

After hailing a cab, Sherlock, John, and Lestrade visited the McCarthy house before seeing the pool. However, on the way there, Sherlock had them stop at a shop.

“Now, Holmes?” John called after as he watched his companion hurry into the shop, “shouldn’t we be on our way?”

Sherlock barely answered him before entering. After sometime, he reappeared, yet emptied-handed. He ascended the cab, looking at Lestrade and John as if they had been dawdling.

“Well, let’s get on. We shan’t waste any more time.”

They resumed their ride before approaching a giant house connected to a farm.

“We have got the deductions and the inferences,” Lestrade said with wink at John, “I find it hard to tackle facts, Holmes, without flying away after theories and fancies.”

Sherlock laughed. “You are right. You _do_ find it very hard to tackle the facts, Lestrade.”

Lestrade huffed. “Well the facts point to the father meeting his demise at the hands of his son.”

Sherlock shook his head before entering the house. They met the maid in the mud room who showed Sherlock a pair of James’s boots, but not the ones he had worn the day before. Sherlock carefully measured them from different points.

“Interesting.” He mumbled to himself. John grinned at Lestrade who sighed.

“Let us go to the pool.” Sherlock commanded, briskly walking out of the mud room.

As soon as they arrived at the pool, Sherlock went about searching the scene. He walked around the area at the pool, finding some tracks before walking to a wooded area near the pool. John and Lestrade followed him as he zigged and zagged about.

“Holmes, really?” Lestrade began, panting from trying to keep up.

Sherlock stopped to look at the Inspector directly. “I am only doing my due diligence, Lestrade."

Sherlock resumed his hunting. “Where exactly was the body found?”

Lestrade pointed to a marshy patch near the pool. Sherlock bent over to study the area, moving around with such an intensity before straightening up again.

“Lestrade, why did you go into the pool?” Sherlock eyed the Inspector.

“Well, I thought I could find the murder weapon in the lake!” Lestrade blinked, “wait a minute, Holmes—”

Sherlock waved him off. “Your footprints are all over this area. There are a few tracks left by the lodgekeeper. But there are a set of tracks belonging to someone else…” Sherlock pointed to an area while kneeling.

“…they belong to young Mr. McCarthy…you can see that first he walked then ran away which confirms his story…and we have here…”

Sherlock jumped up. “Another set of tracks belonging to the culprit that do not match the son’s boots. And where did they come from?”

Sherlock suddenly sprinted away from Lestrade and John, following the tracks until he reached the wooded area. He approached a tree before basically lying on the ground to study the tracks. He picked up a jagged rock and studied it, quietly murmuring to himself. He then jumped up once more carrying the rock, following the tracks until they stopped at a road not too far away from the pool.

Sherlock walked to stand in front of John and Lestrade. “Well this is the murder weapon, Lestrade.”

Lestrade’s mouth bobbed open and close. “I see no marks!”

“I know that.”

“Then why do you say that it is the murder weapon.” Lestrade scratched his forehead.

Sherlock grinned as he turned over the rock. “You see that the grass was hardly disturbed underneath it which means it hadn’t been there long. There was no sign of its place of origin and there is no other murder weapon at the scene.”

“Then who is the murderer, Holmes?” Lestrade said indignantly as he crossed his arms.

“A tall man. Left-handed, limps with the right leg, wears thick-soled shooting boots and a grey cloak.”

Lestrade scrunched up his face. “Well then who is it, Holmes?”

Sherlock sighed. “The man I _just_ described.”

Lestrade looked back and forth between John and Sherlock. John shrugged. “Holmes, perhaps we can do a search for the culprit?” John offered.

Sherlock shook his head as he handed the rock to Lestrade. “Lestrade, I think you can do the search without us. You have the details and the murder weapon. Shouldn’t be too difficult.”

Lestrade grumbled about going on a witch hunt with such few details as Sherlock turned to John. “Let’s retire for the evening and leave Lestrade to his business.”

John nodded, although he was confused by Sherlock’s change in tone. After leaving a note at the post office, they took a carriage back to their cottage, proceeding to eat dinner. However, during the meal, Sherlock stayed completely silent.

“You seem troubled by today’s findings, Holmes.” John began cautiously.

Sherlock sighed before looking at him directly. “Quite. The father had shouted ‘Cooee!’ but it was not for his son. It is a distinct Australian cry, so therefore, whoever the father had gone to meet at the pool had also been in Australia for some time…”

John nodded as he tried to follow along. “What about the reference to the rat?”

Sherlock pulled out a folded piece of paper from his pocket to lay on top of their table. “I bought this at the shop before going to the McCarthy house earlier today…this is a map of the Colony of Victoria.” He covered a section of the map, “and what do you see, Watson?”

“Holmes? Why didn’t you say so?” John sighed.

Sherlock shook his head, using a free hand to point to the spot on the map. “Watson, please.”

John rolled his eyes before squinting. “ARAT?”

Sherlock grinned as he removed his hand to reveal more of the name. “And now?”

John leaned forward. “BALLARAT?”

Sherlock leaned back in his chair. “Precisely. This is the word that the older McCarthy uttered to his son. He was trying to tell his son about his murderer."

John’s eyes widened with amazement. “Holmes! You’re brilliant!”

Sherlock shrugged. “It was easy enough to figure out. And now we have narrowed down the field of suspects considerably. Only a left-handed man was capable of the blow from behind…and the tracks belonged to someone who suffers from a lame leg, perhaps someone who is quite ill…”

John nearly jumped out of his chair. “Holmes! I think you managed to save an innocent life. From your details and the events of the day, I think you’re trying to tell me that the culprit is—”

But before John could finish, there was a knock at their cottage door. Both John and Sherlock glanced at each other before rising from the table to answer the door. John reached the door first, opening it to reveal an older man, leaning on a walking stick.

“Mr. Holmes?” The man began, “I’m John Turner.”

Sherlock nodded. “Thank you for taking the time to visit us, Mr. Turner. Pray have a seat at the table.”

Mr. Turner nodded before walking slowly to the table.

“You received my note?” Sherlock asked as he joined the man.

Mr. Turner nodded. “Yes…you said you wished to avoid a scandal…”

“Mr. Turner, we know about McCarthy.” Sherlock coolly responded.

Mr. Turner turned pale. “My god! I only did it to protect my daughter. I will speak on behalf of young James. But I can’t go to prison…it’ll break my daughter’s heart…I only have a month to live and I would rather die at home.”

Sherlock sighed. “Just tell us the truth.” He handed Mr. Turner a piece of paper and a writing instrument.

Mr. Turner nodded. “I had planned this for a while…McCarthy was an evil man…”

Sherlock beckoned for him to continue. “…back in Australia, in the colony of Ballarat…I ran into some trouble with a gang…we used to rob wagons on their way from the mines. One convoy we stopped…we killed some of the party…I had held my gun to the head of the wagon driver…”

“Charles McCarthy.” Sherlock added for Mr. Turner.

Mr. Turner nodded slowly. “…I had spared his life, but I wished I had shot him then…we got away with the gold and I made my fortune. Years later, McCarthy found me and threatened everything I had built. He lived rent free on my best land, but it wasn’t enough. He eventually asked me to wed my Alice off to his son, but I couldn’t allow it…I knew he was using the marriage so that his son could have the whole estate…”

“…yesterday, I had asked him to meet me at the pool…I went there later and found him talking to his son, so I waited. He had urged his son to ask Alice to marry him…the conversation drove me mad with rage…I knew I would die soon, so it was over for me, but I couldn’t allow Alice to be wrapped up in my mess…

Mr. Turner took a deep breath. “…I killed McCarthy with a rock as soon he was left alone. His cry brought his son back. I fled before running back to grab my cloak when James’s back was turned…”

Sherlock leaned back in his chair. “I see why you would want to keep this a secret and seeing that you are not long for this world, we’ll keep it a secret. However, if the court condemns James McCarthy, I will be forced to use your confession. And he’ll surely be set free.”

Mr. Turner nodded slowly as he rose from his chair. “Thank you, Mr. Holmes.”

Sherlock followed the man to the front door. “Please don’t thank me. I’m only keeping your daughter’s well being in mind.” And with that, he closed the door behind the man.

John lingered near the table. “I think you did the right thing, Holmes. This would only destroy poor Alice.”

Sherlock nodded. “Well…” he started, taking his time, “this was quite the respite wasn’t it?” He tried, smiling awkwardly.

John sighed before smiling. “Thank you for trying.”

“We can go back to Baker Street tomorrow…sorry for dragging you through this yet again…” Sherlock relented.

John shook his head. “Why? You solved the case. You helped James McCarthy. I think you deserve actual rest.”

Sherlock stared at John before managing a genuine smile. “Why, thank you, dear. Perhaps we can try the shops tomorrow?”

John rolled his eyes, but then he grinned. “Sure, why not. I suppose I owe you that.”


End file.
